Note: This chapter is set in the past and doesn't center on the current timeline of the story. Reading this chapter isn't mandatory for understanding the story, but it would enhance the overall experience. The choice is yours. (Canon)
"Though my feet stand, my heart falls like cascades of a wave."
............
"I take and I take, but I don't value any of it. Isn't that right, Zane and Emma?" Sanders remarks coldly.
Aiden pieces together the puzzle with a spark of insight. "You were behind those theater massacres, weren't you? You recruited Zane and Emma. I won't even ask what age they were when you took them, but they're under your control, aren't they?"
"Sharp observation. I didn't think you'd pick up on the connection between us as a trio," Sanders replies with a smirk. "I've raised them, I orchestrated everything, and there's jackshit you can do about it."
Zane and Emma are Sanders' property, through and through.
They always will be...
"They're not yours. They never were, and they'll never be," Wyatt asserts firmly. "You've been tormenting them for too long. But we're not here to kill you. We're offering you a chance to make things right, to find your way back to the light."
Sanders regards Wyatt and Aiden with a piercing gaze. "Firstly, you've got it all twisted," he counters. "I ain't been tormenting them. I've raised them like my own, something you both seem to overlook. And secondly, you think if I give myself up now, I'll suddenly find redemption? That's laughable, really. Like real fucking funny."
Aiden slowly reaches across to remove his glove, his actions deliberate but measured.
Sanders notices Aiden's movement but remains silent, his smile masking any indication of concern.
"We've warned you time and time again. Why do you insist on being so stubborn?" Aiden's voice holds a hint of frustration.
The air grows heavy with silence.
Darkness cooks up like food within a boiling pot.
"Because I've chosen the power of darkness over the restrictions of goodness. Morality just doesn't appeal to me whatsoever," Sanders says casually, his tone betraying a hint of indifference.
Aiden swiftly removes his right-hand glove, forming a gun-like shape with his index finger pointed at Sanders.
"Fall," Aiden commands.
A wave of pressure erupts from his finger, propelling Sanders through the wall of the organization and into the air.
With Aiden's glove off, he unleashes waves of pressure beyond ordinary levels of power.
Sanders, however, utilizes his Kein/Kraft to nullify the force, shielding himself from harm as he crashes into a random living room through another building's wall.
Quickly, Sanders rises from the couch and takes cover behind it, dropping to his knees. Despite the intrusion of light into his dark room, he calmly blocks the light switch with his palm.
While any rational person might panic and seek refuge, Sanders simply smiles, anticipating the next assault.
Soon, Wyatt crashes through the roof into the living room, wielding an axe.
Sensing a trace of Dark Matter behind the couch, Wyatt swings the axe, cleaving the furniture in half.
To his surprise, all he finds is a wooden log smeared with Sanders' Dark Matter.
Once again, Wyatt has been outmaneuvered by Sanders.
Mirrors materialize all over the living room, each reflecting the same image: Sanders' wide grin.
As Sanders breaks into laughter, the mirrors reverberate with the same sound, creating a cacophony that grates on the nerves like nails on a chalkboard.
"Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up," Wyatt repeats frantically, swinging his axe in a frenzy, attempting to silence the echoing laughter.
With painstaking effort, Wyatt begins smashing each mirror one by one, the tedious task wearing on his patience.
"What if I don't exist? What if I never existed? What if I never will exist? What if I'm nothing but a figment of your imagination?" echoes from every reflection of Sanders simultaneously.
Wyatt is overwhelmed by the relentless onslaught of Sanders' darkness.
Wyatt's drowning, while not necessarily losing oxygen, but certainly drowning in a pool.
The mirrors then begin to project videos of random civilians dying in heinous ways, atrocities beyond the imagination of any sane mind: boiling them alive, sawing them vertically, shooting them down when they're utterly defenseless, and more.
"You call yourselves heroes, yet here are just a fraction of your so-called 'people' that you couldn't save. These are my victims," all reflections of Sanders declare simultaneously. "What kind of hero prioritizes lives based on the amount of 'green paper' they have? You can't claim to be a hero when you pick and choose who to save, you sick fucks!"
Meanwhile, Aiden stands just outside the building, observing the chaos unfolding within.
Akin to a mediator's observation of a particular conflict.
A wave of pressure propels Wyatt out of the building through a window, and Aiden takes aim once more.
"Bang," Aiden utters.
The building is then obliterated by an enormous wave of pressure, leaving no trace of its existence behind.
The force carries Wyatt to the ground, akin to a magical carpet, but the descent takes longer than usual due to the strain on Aiden's body from removing his gloves. As a result, the waves of pressure slow down slightly in their intensity.
"There's no way he's a Hybrid. How can a Hybrid be able to do all of these things?" Aiden questions, bewildered by Sanders' abilities.
In a flash, Sanders is before him, wielding a metal bat, striking Aiden with precision and force, sending him reeling several feet away.
With casual grace, Sanders drops the bat and advances towards Aiden, arms open as if welcoming him.
Aiden's fist meets only air as Sanders effortlessly dodges, delivering a barrage of blows to Aiden's midsection, causing him to spew blood.
Desperation fuels Aiden as he thrusts his index finger toward Sanders' forehead, ready to unleash a final wave of pressure to end the confrontation.
But as Aiden blinks, Sanders vanishes, replaced by Wyatt.
Startled, Aiden instinctively withdraws his finger.
"What the hell? You were supposed to still be descending from that wave," Aiden remarks, taken aback by Wyatt's sudden appearance.
"I was, but now I'm down here," Wyatt retorts confidently. "But unlike that weak Belya'al, I won't meet my end so easily."
In the blink of an eye, Wyatt swaps places with Sanders once more. Reacting swiftly, Aiden erects a shield of air pressure around his body.
Sanders now holds a flamethrower, aimed directly at Aiden.
In a flurry of action, flames burst forth, penetrating the shield and scorching Aiden's flesh.
In another blink, Wyatt returns, hurtling through the air with a punch aimed at Sanders, only for Sanders to vanish yet again.
The Harmony of war and the chaos of nightmares within your sleep coexist in a synchronized manner, like the dance of Yin and Yang.
For balance to be maintained within our universe, evil must exist alongside all experiences, and thus, Sanders stands.
Wyatt intervenes just in time to prevent Aiden from suffering more than just a burnt left arm, but the injury is severe—second-degree burns at the very least.
Aiden, still reeling from the pain, sees Sanders once again and attempts to strike him, unleashing a wave of pressure aimed directly at his head. However, the attack is refracted and aimed at thin air.
"Hey! Aiden! What're you doing?! There's nothing there!" Wyatt's voice cuts through Aiden's panic.
Turning to face Wyatt, Aiden is instead met with countless versions of Sanders charging towards him.
Panic sets in as Aiden takes hesitant steps backward, eventually breaking into a run.
"Aiden, wait! Nothing's after you!" Wyatt's voice echoes as he gives chase, determined to stop Aiden's flight.
As they flee, the cityscape abruptly shifts into a desert-like landscape beyond a certain point—a phenomenon previously nonexistent.
In the midst of this arid desert, an unexpected sight greets them: a small, lush village, a stark contrast to its barren surroundings.
It's a surreal sight—how can a desert hold such greenery?
Entering the village, they sense something amiss.
The desert landscape stretches out before them, its golden sands shimmering under the relentless sun. The air is dry and stifling, carrying the faint scent of dust and decay.
In the distance, there resides rocky mountains.
They almost seem as if they haven't felt the touch of a human since the genesis of humanity.
Typical desert villages feature huts and tents around oases, but this village is different. Wooden buildings with brick roofs line the streets, their faded paint peeling under the harsh sun.
"I don't think I'm hallucinating anymore. We're beyond schizophrenic," Wyatt remarks, taking in the bizarre scene.
"Yeah, even those versions of Sanders vanished. But this place... something about it feels off. I don't know what it is about it, but something definitely feels off," Aiden murmurs, a sense of disorientation creeping over him. "I feel so high, Wyatt."
Observing the villagers, they notice an unsettling detail—all bear Sanders' face, even the children.
Approaching a man watering his plants, Wyatt tries to reason with him. But there's no response.
"These people are beyond saving," Aiden concludes, his voice tinged with resignation. "Hey, Wyatt, wanna smoke a blunt? I feel so high."
"You're still under Sanders' influence, and until this place is gone, you're not going to get any better," Wyatt asserts, recognizing the need to stay alert. "It's obviously a fake village. Its appearance just doesn't seem normal, especially in the middle of the desert next to the city."
Finally, the man watering the plants stirs, grasping Wyatt's left hand and uttering,
"I feel so alive when I'm dead."
With that, he collapses, followed by the rest of the villagers, like a series of falling dominoes.
Suddenly, fireworks burst forth within the village, an unexpected display.
It was Sanders that had ignited those fireworks.
Such vibrant colors of the village are juxtaposed with the colorless figure that is Sanders.
Sanders stands upon a stage adorned with banners bearing the colors of the American flag, a microphone positioned before him.
"One more round. C'mon!" His voice reverberates through the air, arms outstretched in invitation.
Wyatt takes a hesitant step forward, glancing back at Aiden. "I think I have to use it again, but I don't want to," he admits, a flicker of fear in his eyes.
Though his alternate form grants immense power, it also instills a deep sense of dread within him. The toll it takes on his being is undeniable. His prime years are fading away.
"No. I think I'm done. I'm done holding back," Aiden declares firmly. "Enough of your life has been taken from you."
His legs tremble, his chest heaves with each breath, and his mind races with thoughts of seeking peace in drugs and alcohol.
Aiden, embodying hope amidst darkness, unveils a new ability. Forming a circle with his palms, he summons a swirling black goo, infused with dark matter.
The substance collapses in on itself, forming a basketball-sized black hole—a display of immense power.
Surrounded by a halo of golden particles, the black hole hovers ominously, symbolizing Aiden's untapped potential and the inherent struggle between light and darkness.
This evokes a sense of destruction, yet amidst the chaos, the golden halo hints at salvation.
"Oh shit! That's awesome, man," Sanders exclaims, laughter echoing through the space. "I'll also assume that cube of particles is a pocket of space from an alternative universe to prevent the black hole from swallowing the planet. You really are smart!"
"Move, and you're dead. You'll get spaghettified to fucking Hell!" Aiden warns, his voice tinged with a mix of determination and apprehension.
"Shit, man. That's a bit extreme, but sure. I can't see how I can survive that," Sanders concedes, raising his arms in surrender. "I give up."
His smile remains, a reminder that no matter the triumph of light, the darkness persists—a balance of Yin and Yang.
And so, they dance.